by Dani Kollin
The Grand Collapse, a combination of the twin pillars of a virtual reality plague and a global economic meltdown, had resulted in a cataclysm the likes of which the world had never seen. But few places suffered from the nearly three-hundred-year-old event like the Middle East, cradle of mono the ism. By the time the plagues and nuclear fallout and winter had subsided, large smatterings of old-fashioned killing had taken their place. With the use of guns, bombs, and toward the end knifes and rocks, there’d been, at the end, precious few people left to kill. The death toll attributed to the Grand Collapse was three in four, or roughly 75 percent, worldwide, but in the Middle East it had been closer to nineteen out of twenty, or 95 percent. In those who were left, a distinctly anti-religious mind-set prevailed. Most of the survivors viewed religion as the cause of the catastrophe and either blamed God or simply stopped believing in a God who could allow such devastation. Had not Mecca and Jerusalem already been obliterated by nuclear immolation, they probably would’ve been destroyed by those seeking revenge for their loss. Both cities, in an ironic twist, had ultimately become symbolic of the pitfalls of superstition and intolerance. The few religious sects left, including those of the Muslims, Jews, and Christians, might never have survived their neighbors’ ire had not the Alaskans come along and organized the world according to their own secular and capitalistic outlook. As the Alaskan precepts were the exact opposite of those of the Middle East, most survivors embraced them wholeheartedly, ignoring the smattering of a few religious “crazies” left. Also, the Alaskans had food.
Although the new Terran Confederation prevented the believers from being slaughtered outright, the few who did remain were in danger of being eradicated by the very safety and security that had saved them. In an amazingly short period of time hunger, suffering, discomfort, ignorance, and fear—for centuries pillars of religious struggle—practically vanished from the human race due to the power of incorporation that capitalism unleashed. Then, with the maturation of medical nanotechnology, near-eternal youth had truly become attainable. With all the signs of aging gone—thinning hair, weathered skin, aches and pains—what had for centuries been the psychological cues to start worrying about one’s imminent demise disappeared. With the advent of replaceable body parts, aging itself had come to an effective end, thereby delivering religion’s final blow—the eradication of death itself. There were still permanent deaths to be sure, but they were so rare an occurrence as to be negligible. No death meant no heaven or hell, no reincarnation. Why struggle with the meaning of life when life held out the possibility of lasting forever? It seemed with man’s apparent ascendance over nature God had gone out of fashion. This didn’t stop the few survivors from believing, but they were surrounded by a 99 percent of humanity that did not. The religious knew that if they stayed, their children and children’s children would never know God, any God, and so they left.
They were so poor that only by sharing could these religious remnants survive away from the deadly comfort and toleration that had become the Earth. So Jew, Muslim, Christian, and Hindu left in groups together and formed what they called “communities of belief” in the stars. Even though detractors called them “deluded” and predicted that they’d end up killing one another in space like they’d done on Earth, the fledgling communities had managed to persevere. And they’d done so because after thousands of years of bloodshed in the name of God these precious few had finally learned to honor their similarities rather than attack their differences.
It was in a well-apportioned cave within this community that J. D. Black had found herself. At first she’d been worried that she’d be forced to wear a veil, wig, or other type of “modesty” garb. But when she had inquired as to the dress code, Fawa had simply laughed. Though some still chose to wear such garb, Fawa had explained, most did not. What J.D. had chosen to do, at least for the first few days, was sleep. She wasn’t sure why, but the sleep she’d had in that cave was the first without nightmares in a very long while.
After J.D. had recovered sufficiently to socialize, she began looking for work. Sadly, her skill set on Earth, more associated with that of the intellectual pursuits, hadn’t prepared her for life in space. Initially the moshav had let her work in the olive groves and pistachio fields, but it was soon obvious that she’d never make it as a farmer. It was while on rotation to the Doxy that she managed to find her second calling. She was good on starships. She instinctively knew where to put her feet and never had to be taught anything twice, no matter how complicated. J.D. had soon become a permanent member of the crew and with the ship’s short hops started to explore the other communities. A few were exclusively one religion, but most, like Gavriel or the largest, Alhambra, were of mixed faith. It was only slowly that J. D. Black began to realize that she was, if not happy, at least no longer unbearably sad. She wasn’t exactly sure when, but at some point she’d started to think that the concept of God might not be as arcane as she’d once thought. She’d even made up her mind to read one of those books Fawa was always offering, but that notion quickly faded when the events of the war overtook them all.
Given their centuries of peaceful coexistence and the constant reminder of what their internecine fighting had once wrought, the communities of belief were horrified by the prospect of war. Still, most had been willing to defend their home against what they felt to be corporate enslavers. It was decided that the Doxy would be outfitted and made ready. There had been no shortage of volunteers to serve on her tattered decks; they may have been believers, but they were Belters as well. J.D., however, wasn’t so sure about the war or its fledgling leader, and was still struggling with a decision when Fawa stopped by her room unexpectedly.
“Little one,” asked her friend, “am I disturbing you?”
“No,” replied J.D. “I was just …” J.D. scanned her Spartan surroundings. “I was just doing nothing.” She then invited her friend over to the one chair she owned. “Did you need something?”
Fawa came in and sat down. Her look, noted J.D., was all business.
“Can I ask something of you?” asked Fawa, beckoning J.D. to sit as well.
J.D. nodded as she took a spot cross-legged in front of her mentor. “Of course.”
“Will you sign up? I mean when the Doxy goes to war.”
“I was thinking of it, Auntie,” answered J.D., using the term of endearment common to the belt.
“That may be for the best,” answered Fawa, leaning forward onto her knees, “for I am worried.”
“What about, Auntie?”
Fawa frowned. “My youngest, Tawfik, volunteered and has, of course, been accepted. They’re going to post him to the engine room.”
J.D. smiled knowingly. If she chose to sign up, the engine room was going to be her posting as well.
“Auntie, don’t you think that he should be watching out for me? Remember, I’m the new one.”
Fawa shook her head. She was not interested in J.D.’s stab at humor. “He is so young, only forty-seven, and you know how impetuous boys can be. Besides, I think Allah has a destiny for you. Not by accident did we meet nearly a year ago. Maybe if you have a destiny, my boy can find refuge in its shadow.”
J.D. was unable to speak. She’d never liked having decisions made for her and yet here was Fawa attempting exactly that.
“Auntie Fawa,” J.D. finally answered, looking up into the forlorn eyes of her friend, “if there is such a being as Allah or God or what ever, I sincerely doubt that in all the vastness of the solar system he knows or cares about me.”
Fawa’s face now lit up with a beaming smile. “Little dove, every speck of sand, every olive pit, every milliliter of hydrogen does Allah know, and I think he knows you too. But you don’t need to believe it. For now I will believe it for the both of us.” Fawa then took J.D.’s hands into hers and looked directly into her eyes. “I pray that you will accept the offer to serve and that my boy, inshallah, will be safe.”
J.D. knew her answer before Fawa had finished t
he request. “Of course I’ll go, Auntie.” It’s the least I can do.
There was no way that either of the women could have known that one’s initial act of kindness and the other’s desire to honor it were to have reverberations felt for centuries to come.
J.D. shook her head to clear the memories and spoke to her charge. “Tawfik, how are the new regulators holding up?”
A young man with dark curly hair, a slightly hooked nose, a full, thick beard, and a smile that radiated life brightened at the question. “J.D., they are amazing. They allow us far greater control and we can finally use the new side vents to turn this crate without risking a blowout. The techs at Gedretar know what they’re doing. It’s a good thing you got us to go in.”
“Tawfik,” chastised J.D., “that was the captain’s decision.”
“Of course it was,” he answered with just the barest hint of sarcasm. “I don’t know how I could have been so mistaken.”
J.D. was about to launch into a speech about “proper attitude” when the alarm suddenly went off. Moments later the entire ship began to shake violently. J.D. had never felt anything quite like it before and knew that in space what you don’t know can kill you. She realized from its specific shrill that one of the alarms was for acceleration prep and so screamed for her crew to strap into their couches. They may not have understood, given the cacophony, but they got the idea when they saw what she was doing. The second she’d locked into her couch the ship bolted jarringly into reverse. Even in the couch J.D. almost passed out from the suddenness and extent of the g-force. Lord, she prayed, unaware of the fact that for the first time in her life she’d called upon a deity she wasn’t even sure she believed in, please let everyone have gotten safely into their couches.
“Bridge!” she screamed. “This is Engineering. We can only maintain this level of thrust for a few minutes before the mass of the thruster plates pancakes the rest of the ship!” She waited for a reply but got nothing. She called up her input controls to the couch and began routing a visual feed. After thirty seconds she got one that chilled her to the bone. The bridge was half-gone. It had, from the look of things, been obliterated by a rapid series of small-impact hits. It was open to space and it was also immediately apparent that all her friends, including the captain and first officer, were dead. Struggling against the tremendous g-force, J.D. managed to toggle all bridge information and remaining control functions to her engineering pad. Once that had been accomplished she called out to the rest of the ship.
“Third Officer, report! Third Officer, report!”
“J.D.!” came the distressed response. “J.D., saints alive, what happened?”
“Jackie,” she answered, choosing to ignore his question, “do you know where Yigal is? He’s in command.”
“He can’t be,” said the voice over the intership. “He was in the gravity ring, sleeping. And that’s been sheared off. He’s gone for sure. Who’s in charge?”
I am, thought J.D. in panic.
“I am,” said J.D in a voice of total calm. She immediately switched the intership to open channel. “Attention, this is the acting captain speaking. Until further notice, all command functions are now being run out of Engineering. I don’t have time to explain, except to say that we just landed in a shit storm and we don’t have an umbrella. But I am going to get us out of this. You just have to do what I say when I say it. Stations report in.”
She listened to the various reports, interrupting only for clarification while at the same time scanning all the sensor information coming in. It took only seconds to grasp what had happened.
Fuck me.
Floating menacingly in front of the AWS Doxy were twenty corporate core fleet ships blowing the hell out of what was left of her vessel. Luckily not all of them were firing. Not even a fully trained fleet mercenary officer would know what to do here, she thought. So with no experience to fall back on, she decided to go with instinct.
“Tawfik,” she said evenly, “cut rear acceleration and let us coast. Power down systems we don’t absolutely need, including your damned popcorn maker.” It was a weak joke, but it got her crew chuckling. She was out of her couch barking an order seconds after deceleration. “Tawfik, I need two mining nukes at the junction between C and D sections. Right now. Move!” Tawfik sprang from his seat and headed aft taking one crewman with him.
“David,” said J.D. “I know you’re only a grease monkey, but you’ve just been promoted to comm. Open a channel with the enemy ship, but make sure it’s unintelligible. Can you do that?”
“Yes, I suppose,” answered the mechanic.
“It has to sound like we’re attempting to make contact but can’t. Hopefully it’ll buy us some time.”
The new communication officer nodded and went to work.
“Also …”
David looked up.
“Send out a masked all-call out on the intership sub net that all survivors make their way back to E Section and that when they do they should strap in tight.”
J.D. then headed out of the engine room toward C Section to see for herself what was left of her ship.
Chunks of the Doxy were either missing altogether or so badly mangled as to force the new captain into more creative routes toward her destination. What she saw along the way horrified her. There were freshly nanopatched holes, marked by their distinctive pale color. The nanites had been designed to seal any and all breaches but nothing else. Anyone happening upon a recently repaired breach might visit a scene of massive death and destruction with no apparent directional source. Only the telltale clues of nanopatching would let the experienced eye realize what had recently occurred. Which in this case was that an entire section of the ship had been suddenly and violently exposed to the icy breath of space and, more likely than not, taken a few poor souls with it. Those left inside hadn’t fared much better, as the ship’s massively accelerated retreat hadn’t allowed them to strap into their couches. J.D. bore witness to bodies smashed, crushed, and, where the missiles from the corporate fleet had gotten through, dismembered.
It had been a necessary function of the space-faring human body that upon death, whether permanent or not, the internal nanogrids would shut down. With the grid down, the body no longer acted as a magnet, as there was no longer a need for its stilted but effective navigation through non–centrifugally spun environments. Plus, it made it easier for the crew to move a weightless body around a tight hold. The problem now was that almost everyone was dead. The remains of her friends were floating in clouds of blood globules staining almost everything they came in contact with, including her.
J.D. continued to check her DijAssist as she moved around and through the floating bodies. Occasionally, she would push a corpse aside, only to be greeted by a few stragglers making their way to the back of the ship. Her readout indicated that the enemy fleet had stopped firing on the Doxy, just as she’d hoped when she’d had the ship power down. They want us alive, good. Let ’em think we’ll cooperate. She especially wanted to avoid capture knowing that, given her history, she’d have a lot to answer for. But more than that gnawing fear was the cold rage welling up inside. She liked this crew, liked them far more than almost anyone she’d known on Earth. And so the core’s attack would not go unanswered. They wanted her ship and crew alive now that the Doxy was crippled, and that would be to her advantage.
Because D Section had taken a tremendous amount of punishment it was barely holding atmosphere and was still frigid from its recent exposure to space. Still, J.D. had managed to make it across and over to the blast doors of C Section. She then said a prayer, tried the pre-command sequence, and nearly roared in triumph as the panel lit up green. Tawfik and another crewman named Pytor arrived with the backpack nukes on their shoulders just as the huge doors slid open. J.D. could see that Pytor too was covered in blood, but Tawfik, who’d been wearing a jumpsuit made of liquid-repellent material, had ruby red globules stuck to and running the length of his entire body. Their bloodstain
ed faces were sullen, but their eyes revealed a fierce determination. Under J.D.’s terse direction the men set the bombs to detonate by remote and then carefully placed them in the newly opened section. They then made their way back to the engineering room as quickly as their legs could carry them with J.D. barking orders for the stragglers they passed to strap in or die.
J.D., bloodstained and hair matted, burst through the door shouting for her crew to prepare for combat maneuvers, then threw herself into her acceleration couch.
“Tawfik,” she commanded, “on my mark broadcast a distress beacon and tell the core ships we’re suffering massive systems and structural failure.” Tawfik sat at the ready.
She then turned to David.
“Com, can you make the rear thrusters produce a wall of force by slightly directing the upper and lower units in toward each other?”
“I think so,” David replied, “but that will limit our escape speed. Why do we—”
“Allah be praised!” interrupted Tawfik, suddenly realizing what the nukes were for. “Mother was right. David, stop answering a question with a question; can you do it?”
“Why not?” he answered with a sly grin.
“Good,” said J.D., exhaling deeply, then tapping the last of her orders into a data pad. “Now follow the commands on your stations, in three … two … one … mark!”
Per her orders, J.D. heard the faux distress signal go out and then waited exactly ten seconds. She then gave the command that broke the C Section from the rest of the ship. Then the B Section broke from C, and finally what was left of the A Section—the bridge—broke apart from B. The new captain prayed that it would appear for all intents and purposes like their ship was beginning to experience catastrophic structural failure.
“No need to shoot at us,” J.D. said softly to no one in particular. “See, we’re already breaking apart.” Tawfik gave her a quizzical look and she nodded back. The Doxy’s lateral thrusters started firing, causing the main body of what was left of the ship to swing on its axis. Although it looked awkward with the thrusters firing intermittently, the ship was slowly, imperceptibly, beginning to turn around, putting the three recently disengaged sections between herself and the enemy fleet.
